I stood still, letting my hand fall to my side as August continued on to the artistlounge.
My heart clenched in mychest.
It couldn'thavebeen…
But ifitwas…
Looking around quickly, I caught sight of Damon talking to a guitar tech. I rushed over, a lump inmygut.
"Damon." My voice shook slightly. "Ithink…"
Damon noticed my shaky tone. Concerned, he waved the guitar tech away, a furrow between hisbrows.
"What? Whatisit?"
I swallowed hard. I didn't want to say it. But I knew Ihadto.
"I think August is on drugsagain."
Chapter Twenty-Three
The other guyswere in the hotel room with August, chilling after the concert. We didn't have to leave until the next morning. They'd taken the time to shower and change. Performing was aworkout.
Damon and I stood in the hallway outside thesuite.
"What do we tell them?" I asked softly. "Do we just come out andsayit?"
"We should give him a chance to tell us himself,"Damonsaid.
"Do you thinkhewill?"
Damon pressed his lips together, no doubt thinking of all the other times Augusthadlied.
"Do you know what happens when people mix alcohol with opioids like Oxycodone?" he asked. "I lookeditup."
"No. What are yousaying?"
"We all thought August was a lightweight and got drunk easily. But maybe he was—" Damon stopped, not wanting toadmitit.
"You think… all those times, he was taking drugs?" I asked slowly. "You think the drugs and alcohol mixed and messedhimup?"
"Maybe. It would explain a lot." Damon growled, running his fingers through his hair, messing up the strands. "This fucking sucks. Why do we have to be thebadguys?"
My stomach roiled, distressed. It felt like a vice was squeezing mychest.
"If we don't say anything, and he has anotheroverdose…."
Damon noddedmiserably.
"I know." He blew out a breath. "Okay. Let'sdothis."
The two of us walked in. Ian glanced over. He raised aneyebrow.
"Someone die?" he asked. "You look soforeboding."
I looked to August. He wouldn't meet my eyes. I took a deep breath and squared myshoulders.
"August. Is there something you want totellus?"